With Closed Eyes I See
by twilightknight09
Summary: A night of passion with Edward and Bella.  BPOV.


**I know that I haven't finished the story I have right now, but I'm not feeling it. It's not flowing the way I want it to, so I'm going to pull it. No one's really reading it anyway ****.**

**This lil ditty has been whoring its way around my cerebral cortex for some time now, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. Although I am listing is as an Edward/Bella story, it can be any couple you want it to be. I hope you enjoy it, and please review.**

**Although no names were used, the disclaimer stands. Mrs. Meyers owns the Twilight world. I just like to use them for my own erotic pleasure. -) **

I kept my eyes closed, not looking at anything around me, just letting my other senses take over. I can imagine the look on his face as he approaches me, his footsteps padding lightly over the carpet. I envision his eyes, smoldering, hooded and dark with the lust I am sure matches, or even surpasses, mine. I can see him licking his lips, swollen and red from our previous hot and heavy make out session, plumper than usual from my nips and tugs. As I feel the bed tip from his added weight settling next to me I can see his naked body, lithe and tight with muscles from his daily runs and workouts at the gym with his brother. I can smell him, hot and spicy and sex. All this I "see" with my eyes closed.

His hot breath on my shoulder makes my eyes snap open before rolling back in ecstasy, lips and teeth and tongue biting, licking, and sucking on my overheated flesh. His hands massage, smooth, soothe me. Embarrassing sighs and moans escape from behind my lips, my breathing becoming quick and erratic with each stroke from his long, calloused fingers. I lay there, letting him do whatever he wants to me, putty in his very capable and talented hands.

When his hands stop touching me, I look up into his eyes, falling deeply into those liquid pools. He brings his face down to mine and destroys my senses, his lips taking my breath and my sanity. Whenever I have lunch with my girls, I never can describe how it feels to kiss him like this. There are no words worthy of the sensations he causes in my body. All the way down to my very soul. His taste is addicting. His tongue feels so delicious gliding softly against mine, and I know that I can never get enough of him.

My hands move of their own accord, sliding over flesh and sinew, muscle and bone, until I bury them into the riotous mess that is his hair. The color of it is like molten lava, fire and heat, and when the sun hits it just right he looks like flames surround him. Women all over town fawn over him when he walks by. They forget about their husbands and boyfriends standing next to them and openly flirt when he is in the same room. They stare at him with open lust and desire and need for him and all that he posses. But they will never feel the things he can do with his musician's fingers. They will never taste the candy that is his kisses. They will never know the feeling of him staring down at them while he presses his hot flesh against theirs.

Because he is MINE.

His fingers slide down, gliding over my breasts and pinching each nipple to hard, painful points. He tickles and glides his fingers across my ribs, my stomach, my hips. He presses against the flesh of my thighs, and I wantonly open up myself to him, surrendering to his silent request. He slowly slides a single digit lower, until he is teasing, taunting my very sex with promises of torturous pleasure. He enjoys this part of our little tryst the most; he glides and slides, teases, and it's almost to where I need him desperately, but he will torment me to the point of insanity before he finally presses his fingers where I want them, need them, most. My world shatters quickly, always. I never last long when he tortures me so, and he will continue along this line until I am a mass of nerves and begging for mercy.

I can feel him. He presses against me, hard, hot, thick and swollen. I try to move my hips, try to feel his flesh with my hands, but he stops me with just a look and a soft "no". I love the way he feels against my tongue, salty and soft, yet hard and unyielding. Like steel encased in silk. When I have him that way he is in my control, my slave, and I torture and torment him just as easily as he does me. We know what the other likes so well.

This time there will be no tasting. No soft licks from his talented tongue. No swirls from my tongue or kisses from my mouth. He is not in the mood for that. He has taken this game too far, and has lost patience with foreplay.

He's ready.

And so am I.

We start our dance. Flesh to flesh, pressing closer and closer until we two become one. It is the oldest dance there is, but we have our own music we follow. It's rough, almost brutal at times. Teeth in flesh. Nails scratching against shoulders. My nerves are on edge and my skin feels stretched tight against my bones, the mere feeling of him inside me causing my legs to quake with intense pleasure. His grunts mix with my whimpers. Our kisses are sloppy now, wet and ungraceful with the push and pull of our erotic dance. I wrap myself tightly around him, holding on for dear life, needing him to anchor me as he makes me come apart.

I feel the spring coil, tight, right under my skin, ready, like a viper about to strike. A shift in movement from him makes it snap and I explode, my whole body on fire. I can barely hear above the pulsing of my blood in my ears. I clench tightly, pulling him along with me, his growls of completion animalistic and feral to my ears, and I fall again, harder than the first time, until all turns black.

Light slowly greets me behind closed lids. At first I am confused as to what happened, until I move. Low, deep aches bring it all back in startling clarity, and I open my eyes, searching him out. He is lying next to me, sweaty and sexy, looking at me with love and concern, a crease on his beautiful brown, and I reach up to smooth the offending blemish. He grabs my hand and kisses the palm, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips.

"You scared me."

"I'm sorry love. I didn't mean to."

"Are you alright? You were out for a while there."

"Oh, I'm more than alright. I am very, VERY fine." My eyes drift closed, a smile spreading slowly over my face, making my cheeks hurt.

I can tell he is still looking at my face, his eyes searching for any untruths, but I cannot lie to him. I never could.

"I love you."

"I love you too. So very much."

And he kisses my closed eyes.

**That's it! I don't write very often, but when I do, it's kinda like this. There are tons of writers out there that I absolutely love, and I know this is not up to their caliber, but I try! Feedback, please! And no flames; I find insulting someone if you don't like it to be juvenile. If you don't like it, use compassion and tact. Don't be an ass.**

**Much love!**


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